


'Not Doing It'

by shihadchick



Category: BSG RPF, Canada RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grips are taking bets and running book on it all, because Callum and Katee have had chemistry before, but never like <i>this</i>, nothing like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Not Doing It'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joandarck](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=joandarck).



> A scrap of Callum/Katee for [](http://joandarck.livejournal.com/profile)[**joandarck**](http://joandarck.livejournal.com/). Spoiler warning in that it references the existence of the Scene of Spine-Melting Hot1, but, uh, I think anyone likely to read this has seen at least stills of that anyway? Um. And kind and heartfelt thanks are due to [](http://malnpudl.livejournal.com/profile)[**malnpudl**](http://malnpudl.livejournal.com/) for a look over and identifying an early issue. Cheers, babe.
> 
> (Disclaimer: blah blah not real, using publically available personae of celebrities, also, I know jackall about, um, tv filming? Among other things? *winning smile*)

After they film that scene (and it is 'that scene', you can practically hear the quotation marks dripping around the set, say nothing of what it'll be like when it hits the airwaves and, god forbid, the convention circuit) the rumours chase around the set at double-time, the scale verging on epic (and colourful, and embroidered beyond all probability, one might add), swelling to hitherto unknown proportions. A whisper, a whisper, runs from catering to wardrobe, and whips thrice around the actors with a detour through the extras (and the casting director and it more than likely filters through to the studio, not that they'd care, because press is press is press).

The grips are taking bets and running book on it all, because Callum and Katee have had chemistry before, but never like _this_, nothing like this.

If Alcala was an ounce less professional, he'd have been tempted to check the celluloid hadn't melted, but then again, there are benefits to filming on digital these days, aren't there?

As it is, he congratulates them on the take, waves them off to their respective homes for the evening and does not, in fact, tug at his own collar more than once or twice.

Katee noticed that and tucked a smile behind her hand at the time, faking a yawn, striding loose-limbed towards her trailer and a bottle of water.

Callum had just looked inscrutable (as always) and then half smiled at her (as always), more with his eyes than his mouth, and the responsive little sparkle she's never quite quelled births half a hundred new rumours on the spot as their gazes met.

They're careful to leave in separate directions, though of course given the swirl of insinuation hovering half-tangible, well. That does very little to stay the gossip-mongers.

* * *

A couple of the cast take a step back (not that anyone would ever be so coarse as to imply a studio set is a hotbed of rumour, nothing of the sort), and point out cleverly that the sparks flying between the two of them, the electric hum in the air whenever they're working together - that's what you get _before_, that's the kind of chemistry which comes from _not_ fucking. All subsumed throttled (choked) attraction and none of the action.

The younger crew don't like that theory all that much (because that way does not lead toward Katee shirtless, and the potential to catch a glimpse thereof), but persuasive talking and a good use of examples (Ross and Rachel; Tom and Nicole) brings the majority around right quick.

Certain other people find that _hilarious_.

* * *

"'Not doing it'," Katee breathes out, muffling a laugh into Callum's ear, arms tight-tight-tight around his neck, thumb snugged up hard behind his ear and pressed into his scalp. He smiles against the side of her neck, she can feel his mouth move, tongue sneaking out to rasp over the skin, just light enough to go pink and fade before their next call. "Can you _believe _that? Honestly, how stupid-" his mouth sliding down as her head falls back, clever fingers untucking her tank top, rolling it up her chest so his chin bumps over the fabric before he licks delicately at the slope of her breast, and she bites her lip rather than gasp (be in trouble from makeup for that later, but better than giving in, better than being so transparent with the need of it), choking out deceptively calm "do they think we are?"

"You know, I think they probably think we're too smart to do it on _set_," he says ruefully, eye-level to her hips now, and she leans back further, lets her head smack lightly into the wall of the closet (a closet, really, how cliched do they want to get - and then Callum's fingers are inching under her waistband and, okay, Katee thinks, she could sure be all right with some cliche about now) and says something that sounds a lot like "mmm, well" and isn't _actually_ a response.

He wasn't really looking for one, anyway. No telling how long this thing they've got will blaze, scorching fast and bright like the most illegal fireworks this side of the border, and he just wants- they both want, haven't talked about it much but it's clear as day (as crystal) that they're on the same page (same script) for this - just wants to wrap all this heat around them for as long as it'll burn.

Katee's still laughing quietly to herself, low moans curling (kindling) around the giggles as Callum drags his mouth back up, drawn from parts south to bite at her navel, nuzzle over breastbone and nip at her lips again, the remains of make-up blandly camouflaging the taste of her skin, smearing and eroding against his tongue. Callum's just the right height to line up neatly along her body, touching from tip to toe, and he's wicked as he leans in, presses hard (presses his advantage), has her pliant and greedy up against the wall.

They shiver (delight) through the minutes as he slides closer, tighter, hotter into her, smiling hot and dangerous (and friendly, an edge of comfort underneath it all, definitely Cal and not the slightest trace of Leoben, not like this), raking blunted nails along her sides. The fun of it bounces between them, skin on skin, eyes meeting, holding, even and equal, thrill in both the sheer physical rush of it and the danger, because as it starts to become too much they're both having to swallow noises, falling into a kiss that is as practical as it is practised. Because an inch away through a cheap particle-board door equipment trundles by, clattering and noisy with people and industry, and Katee arches her back and kisses him hard, legs shaking as it all coalesces, rattles through her, nerves coiling and spasming and releasing, sending them ever towards the heavens.

He is, if possible, even limper afterwards than she is, leaning heavy and breathing humid into her collarbone while she clasps his biceps and tries not to crease his shirt. She'll have time for a shower - needs one now - but he might not, and there's just a flicker of a charge in knowing that, still. In having the truth behind what people say (and think and hope).

So sometimes what they do (who they are) bleeds over a little more clearly than others. Wasn't the first, won't be the last time. They're a balanced reaction, these two, and what you see just depends on the attention you pay.

If someone interviewed Katee right now (or, okay, five minutes later after she'd cleaned up a _little_, manners, you know): she'd talk about how acting is like sex.

She'd be tempted to, anyway.

_finis_


End file.
